Valerie Malmont - Death, Snow, and Mistletoe

“Sure,” he said. “But it'll be a few days before I hear anything back. The autopsy's going to take a while, too. Tori, I really meant it last night when I asked for your help. With only me and Afton here, I'm running in more directions than a chicken with its head cut off. Seems like the council's threatening to fire me every couple of minutes.”

“I'll do what I can,” I assured him. “Right now you should start interviewing the people who were on the stage. Find out if anyone noticed who put the cup on the pedestal-or even if they saw someone go near it.”

“Thanks,” he said with what sounded like a sigh of relief. “I'll get on it right away. Are you ready for the police news?”

“Fire away.” I grabbed a pencil.

He gave me the details on two DUIs, a fight at Daisy's Bar-Grill-Laundromat, and a break-in that took place last night at the home of a noted Civil War historian, Dr. Cletus Wilson. I sat up straight when I heard the address, for it was in my own Moon Lake neighborhood.

“I hope this doesn't mean Lickin Creek's getting to be like the city,” I commented, thinking I was beginning to sound like a true Lickin Creek native.

“I hope not, too, Tori. But this was probably just teenagers out for a thrill. Not much was taken. Only a few flashy things, Wilson said. They left the most valuable stuff alone.”

“How'd they get in?” I asked, thinking of my not-so-well-hidden key.

“Wilson said they got in through the servants’ entrance in the basement, then came up the hidden staircase.”

“Hidden staircase? Sounds like a Nancy Drew mystery- The Hidden Staircase. You're kidding, aren't you?”

“Of course not. Everybody knows that all the houses in Moon Lake were built about the same time, and all of them have hidden staircases and corridors.”

“Even mine?”

“Probably. They were for the servants to use-so they wouldn't bother the rich home owners with their comings and goings.”

I made a mental note to look for secret passageways when I got home tonight.

The next call was from Praxythea. Her limo had just arrived to take her to York, but first she needed to tell me that Ginnie had stopped by to remind me of our bingo date. “And she brought you a bingo kit,” Praxythea said with a chuckle.

“What's that?” I asked.

“It's a little plastic bag with colored markers in it, and-let's see-a good-luck troll. How adorable!”

I groaned.

“She'll pick you up at five-thirty.”

“Are you sure she said five-thirty? That's awfully early. I won't have time for dinner.”

“She said to plan on eating there-they have good slippery potpie. What is that?”

“A local delicacy. One I don't care for. Have a good trip.”

My hand was still on the receiver when the phone rang again. Thinking of the many articles I had to write, I almost chose not to answer, but I've never been able to ignore a ringing telephone.

“Hello,” I said.

Nothing.

I tried again. “Hello, anybody there?”

Again, no answer.

“Damn computer-generated calls!” I muttered, almost ready to hang up.

Then I heard a faint, hesitant voice. “Miz Miracle?”

“This is Tori Miracle. Who is this, please?”

A pause. “It's me. Peter.”

I jerked to attention. Was he going to tell me the truth about Kevin-despite his sister's bullying? This could be the break we needed. “What can I do for you, Peter?” I asked calmly. I didn't want to scare him off with my eagerness.

He mumbled something so softly I couldn't catch anything but Kevin's name.

“Do you know where Kevin is?” I asked. “If you do, please tell me.”

“I'm scared,” he whimpered.

“Of what?”

“Pearl.”

My God, what has Pearl done? I wondered.

“Where are you, Peter?”

“Corny's,” he said.

“Corny's Feed Store?”

“Yeah.”

“Is Pearl with you?”

“I'm all alone.”

“Is Kevin all right?” I asked. I couldn't bring myself to ask if he was alive.

“Don't know. I'm real scared.” His voice quivered. “Can you come get me?”

“Peter, stay where you are. I'll be there in half an hour.”

“Don't tell no one. I don't want Pearl to know I called you.” I could hear sharp bursts of air and knew he was hyperventilating.

“Hang in there, kid. I'm on my way.”

Bless all the dear children

THE SNOW HAD MELTED, THE ROAD WAS NO longer icy, and I broke all the speed laws going up the mountain, arriving at Corny's Corner in record time. Fewer cars were parked in the field than last night, and I feared the search was winding down as people lost hope in finding Kevin.

Inside Corny's, the Friendly Feed Store, I discovered it was not only a feed store but also an old-fashioned hardware shop, dark and dusty, with shelves piled high with tools, bags of fertilizer, kitchenware, Christmas decorations, and many items I didn't recognize. Down the center of each aisle was a row of wooden barrels full of nails. Ceiling fans, high overhead, churned up dust motes, but did little to freshen the stale air. I looked around the cavernous old building, trying to spot Peter, but there was no sign of him.

A young man approached wearing black trousers, yellow suspenders, a bright-purple shirt, and a black hat too small for his head. A delicate golden peach fuzz bloomed on his rosy cheeks. With a thick Pennsylvania Dutch accent, he asked if he could help me.

I shook my head, since Peter was obviously hiding and I'd promised not to tell he'd called. I spent a few moments examining the store's selection of blue and white crocks and ceramic butter churns, while I tried to figure out what to do. It came to me that Peter would most likely be somewhere near the phone he'd called from.

“Do you have a public telephone?” I asked the young man. “I've got a little problem with my car.” I don't know why I thought it necessary to throw in an explanation for wanting to use his phone.

The youth smiled, rather patronizingly, I thought, and said, “Ain't got no pay phone, miss, but you'uns can use the one in the office.” He pointed down one of the long aisles, to a heavily varnished oak door. My helpless-female act had paid off. I stepped inside the small office, really not much more than a closet with a window, and closed the door behind me. “Peter, are you in here?” I whispered. “It's Tori-I mean, Miss Miracle.”

From beneath the rolltop desk came a rustle, a grunt, and finally a frightened-looking, towheaded boy.

I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him. I could feel the pounding of his heart right through his skimpy jacket and my quilted one.

“You didn't tell no one, did you?” he asked, still shaking. “Pearl don't know I called you, does she?”

I smoothed his tousled hair. “It's okay. There's no way she could know.”

My words seemed to soothe him.

I watched through the crack in the door until the clerk left his position at the counter to wait on a customer. “Now,” I said softly to Peter, and we scuttled, unseen, out the front door.

“Where to?” I asked him, once the truck had sprung to life.

Peter scrunched down beside me on the front seat. “Up the mountain,” he said.

He and Pearl had told the police that Kevin's kidnapper had driven toward town-the opposite direction from where we were now headed.

“Keep going till I tell you to stop,” he said. He appeared much calmer now. I reached over and patted his hand to reassure him, and he smiled wanly at me.

We passed the entrance to the Iron Ore Mansions Trailer Park. As far as I could tell, there were no media vans beyond the gate. The ghouls had moved on.